Stumbled when the peppy melody of “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” erupted from her phone.
Forcing herself to pick up the pace again, she pulled out her cell and scanned the name on the screen.
Let out a relieved breath.
Help was close at hand.
She put the phone to her ear. “It’s Marci.”
“Where are you?”
“Approaching the stairs. Is it safe to come out?”
“Yes. I’ll watch for you. I alerted the fire department.”
“So did my alarm company. Where’s the fire?”
“In the back.”
She started down the stairs. “Did you get everything?”
“More than you’ll need.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
She slid the phone back in her jeans. Exhaled.
There would be damage to contend with once the smoke cleared, but her gamble had paid off.
Nicole was history.
Middle-of-the-night phone calls were never a good omen.
Ben felt around for his cell and tried to clear the fog from his brain—but as Lexie’s name registered on the screen, his mental murkiness evaporated as fast as a Hope Harbor mist chased away by the sun.
“What’s wrong?” He swung his legs to the floor and snagged the jeans he’d tossed on a chair after returning home from the Gull at ten o’clock. Nicole had taken a swing by Marci’s house during the evening, but as far as Ben could tell, once she’d pulled into the Gull, she’d called it a night.
Maybe that assumption had been wrong.
“There’s a fire at Marci’s house. The call came in ten minutes ago. I thought you’d want to know.”
His heart missed a few beats.
Yeah, his assumption had been wrong.
“Is Marci safe?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I’m on my way to find out.”
In the background, the siren of the town fire truck began to wail.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I figured you’d want to join us. See you soon.”
The line went dead—and he went into action.
Years of trauma work overseas had taught him to move at warp speed, but he broke his own record getting to Pelican Point.
In ten minutes flat, he was on-site.
After pulling in behind a police car on the side of the road, he sprinted toward a cluster of people standing out of the way of the firefighters. Lexie, Officer Gleason, Marci—and some tall, lanky guy dressed in black that he didn’t recognize.
Marci saw him first, and she broke away from the group, jogging toward him as fast as she could in . . . he peered at her feet . . . bunny-shaped slippers?
She launched herself at him from three feet away, and he absorbed her weight, wrapping her tight in his arms.
“Are you okay?” His question came out in a croak.
“Uh-huh.” The words were muffled against his chest. “And best of all—Nicole won’t ever bother us again.”
“If we can prove she did it.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
As Lexie spoke, Ben reluctantly loosened his grip on Marci. She turned but stayed within the circle of his arms.
Where she belonged.
“What do you mean?”
“We have pictures—thanks to Marci and Mr. Young here.” Lexie indicated the lanky guy, then addressed Marci. “When you asked me for the name of a reputable PI, I had no idea what you had in mind. I thought you were researching some story for the Herald. If I’d known your plan, I would have discouraged you.”
“It worked, though.”
“I can’t argue with that. It appears we have irrefutable evidence of her illegal activity.”
“What plan?” Ben puckered his brow.
Marci shrugged. “I got tired of waiting for Nicole. So I had my alarm company add a few cameras to my setup, hired Steve”—she motioned to the PI—“and gave her a reason to go after me sooner rather than later.”
Ah-ha.
Her seemingly impulsive move at the taco stand hadn’t been impulsive at all, but part of a well-orchestrated strategy to exert some control over the situation.
“So that’s what the kiss yesterday was all about.”
“Guilty as charged . . . and not in the least repentant.”
“What if I hadn’t shown up at the wharf?”
“I had plans to get you there.”
Yeah. She would have.
“You put yourself at risk.”
“I’m fine.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “And it brought this whole nasty business to a head. Although I have to admit I didn’t expect her to resort to fire.”
Lexie pulled out her phone and skimmed the screen. “Excuse me a minute.” She walked a few yards away, cell to her ear.
“I think my work here is done.” The PI extended his hand to Marci. “I’ll make sure the police have everything they need.”
“Thank you.” She clasped his fingers and did a belated introduction.
Ben shook hands with him too—but as the man walked over to talk with Jim Gleason, he gave her a stern look. “You could have told me about this, you know.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“True.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Are you mad at me?”
“Good news, folks.” Lexie reappeared, giving him a reprieve on that answer. “We already picked up your friend. She went back to the motel, with no apparent suspicion her activity here was monitored and documented. You won’t need to worry about her anymore. The evidence we have will put her away for a very long time.”
“That’s a relief.” Marci inspected the house. “How bad is the damage?”
“Minor, according to the fire chief. With all the rain we’ve had, the wood is damp, and that inhibited the effectiveness of the accelerant she threw on the siding. You’ve got some serious scorching, but your smoke alarms picked up the fire fast. Other than minimal repairs in the kitchen, the house shouldn’t need much work on the inside.”
“That’s a relief. Can I stay here tonight?”
“It will take a while for the fire crew to finish. They’ll want to make certain nothing is smoldering. You might have a long wait.” At a summons from Officer Gleason, Lexie excused herself to join him.
“There’s a guest room at Skip’s house with your name on it.” Ben twined his fingers with hers.
“Sold. Let me collect a few essentials.”
“I’ll wait for you in the living room. And bring those.” He motioned to her feet.
She dipped her chin . . . and flushed. “Whoops. I usually
